


what you did to me (i'll spend my life trying to rise)

by filthymouthedslut



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Character Bashing, IC bashing, Other, basically a rant of exactly why i hate the IC except from Nesta's perspective, bc i rip into her, because i hate her and the way the IC behaves when it comes to nesta, dont read if you like feyre, feyre bashing, nesta is the true queen, not feyrug, v anti feyre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27342865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthymouthedslut/pseuds/filthymouthedslut
Summary: Nesta has had enough of the Inner Circle and their holier-than-thou attitude.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42





	1. beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because i was in my feels.  
> a warning: this fic is heavily anti-feyre. if you like her, you probably shouldn't read this. i go into it, but not as much as i would like to bc i think it would get really long then.  
> kudos and comments are really appreciated<33  
> title from the song by The Verve Pipe.

Velaris was sunny today, bright and happy. The stark opposite of Nesta Archeron, who sat near the Sidra, gazing out at the sparkling water. A book sat on her lap as she sat straight-backed.

Feyre hadn’t seen her look this relaxed since that day early on, when she had returned from the Spring Court. Before it all went to shit.

She had sent word to Nesta an hour ago to meet at Rita’s but she hadn’t gotten a response. Feyre thought it was out of spite. She hadn’t even thought that Nesta might not be at home.

She was flanked by Amren and Mor, Rhysand and Azriel a few paces back. Cassian was away on some assignment. Elaine had stayed behind at the house, choosing to tend to her roses rather than face Nesta’s thorns.

Despite the fact that never _once_ had Nesta been anything but nice to Elaine. As nice as Nesta could be.

Any comfort vanished from her body as soon as she scented their approach. Her back stiffened, becoming impossibly straight. Her shoulders were locked and jaw set. Her gray-blue eyes rose to meet Feyre’s, then swept over the others, gauging their expressions.

Yet her she remained stone-faced, no emotion visible. Nesta stood as they reached her, setting her book down on the bench she sat on. She had donned her usual grey gown, not a weapon in sight.

A sharp contrast to the Inner Circle who were practically loaded with steel.

“Can I help you?” Nesta asked coldly, eyes fixed on Feyre.

Feyre hesitated, not wanting to approach the topic in public.

“Could we go somewhere private? I would prefer to have this conversation inside,” she said smoothly. _Because you aren’t going to like it and I don’t want to risk your powers,_ she didn’t add.

Nesta sized her up, as if weighing her options. Her glance drifted to her companions, all stone faced. Feyre couldn’t read her expression, couldn’t make out her thoughts.

“Alright,” was all Nesta said, picking up her book. “I assume you have a location in mind?”

Feyre nodded, holding her hand out for Nesta. She could only winnow short locations, and the river estate was near. She shot her mate a glance, conveying her message through the bond.

_Get backup. Just in case._

Because now that Amren was a regular Fae again, her powers were no longer an option. And Feyre didn’t know if Rhysand was stronger than Nesta. Didn’t want to find out either.

Nesta gripped her arm, bony fingers digging in. Her wrists were thin, almost half of Feyre’s. Every part of Nesta seemed to be made of glass, sharp and strong. How her strength remained, when she clearly wasn’t eating, Feyre didn’t know.

The air squeezed for a second, then they were home. In the river estate that Rhys had gifted her. The other winnowed in a minute later, and Rhys’ eyes instantly shot to hers.

_Cassian’s on his way. With Elaine, just incase things go wrong._

* * *

Nesta blinked at the light pouring in from the tall windows of Feyre’s palace. Or home, she supposed.

She knew that whatever Feyre had to say to her wasn’t going to be pleasant. Hence, the need to get indoors. As if she didn’t want Nesta’s powers making an appearance.

Her powers had been sleeping for months. Since that fateful day when her father had been killed in front of her.

Nesta shut out the image of her in that forest, and instead concentrated on her sister’s steps. Feyre led her into a large room, scattered with wooden furniture.

Feyre sat down on one of the lavish couches, her mate standing behind her. The other watchdogs stationed themselves at the door, monitoring every move she made.

When Nesta made no move to sit, Feyre rubbed the spot between her eyebrows, her mate glaring openly. She just shot an icy glare back, not intimidated by the male.

“Nesta. Please sit,” Feyre implored, looking exhausted already. Nesta carefully sat on the edge of the chair, folding her hands on her lap. She said nothing, waiting for Feyre.

Her sister looked at her, eyes pleading. “We called you here to discuss your… behavior,” she paused, unsure of what to call it.

Nesta asked her icily, “What about it?”

She knew exactly what Feyre was talking about. The drinking, the males, the general self-destructive spiral she was in. But she feigned ignorance, knowing they would see through it.

“It has to stop, Nesta. It’s gone on long enough. You are out every night, spending _our_ money. You refuse to cooperate with us, refuse our help. Any job offer we extend, you turn it down. You don’t come to _any_ event, don’t talk to anyone,” Feyre paused again, “Its enough.”

Still, Nesta didn’t feel anything. Didn’t feel shame, guilt. Only the anger. But she shoved it down, her powers slowly awakening at the pure rage.

Keeping her mask of indifference, she bit out, “I still don’t see the purpose of this meeting.”

Rhysand snarled but Feyre was there, shooting him an icy look. At the door, Mor opened her mouth to say something but the shadowinger shook his head at her.

“The purpose, Nesta, is to try to _help_ you. And the first step is to cut you off. We can’t let you waste money like this Nesta. Not anymore.”

The rage swelled again, stronger this time. But Nesta pushed it down again, along with her powers.

She bared her teeth. “Fine. I’ll get someone else to pay for me then. Maybe one of those _males_ you seem so concerned about.”

That seemed to set off a fire in Feyre, her eyes lighting up with anger.

“No. This has gone on long enough. I have put up with _so_ much from you. So has this court. We have given you comfort, given you protection. And you-,” she cut herself off as Cassian walked through the doors.

Every pore in her body stilled; but she didn’t look at him. Knew he was already looking at her.

“And you have been nothing but ungrateful,” Feyre finished off.

Every thought emptied out of her head. The anger rose, and this time she didn’t hold it down. Nesta let it flow through her as she shot to her feet, snarling at them all. The happy, perfect circle.

“I will never, _ever_ be grateful to you. Not to you, not to your precious court, not to the Fae.” Feyre was standing now too, but Nesta didn’t care. Didn’t care about the court either, currently growling at her with their weapons drawn.

“You want me to be thankful? Should I get down on my knees and thank the mighty High Lady. Do you want me to sit back and wag my tongue at you? To reassure you that you are always right? That everything you do helps people?”

Cassian was trying to adjust himself so that he was in between Nesta and Feyre. To shield her sister from what she was saying.

But Nesta went on, months of anger and frustration pouring out of her.

“I will never in my _life_ forgive you for what you did to me. You want an apology for the way I treated you when you were 14? Fine. I am sorry for what I put you through then. But that doesn’t even come close to what you took away from me,” Nesta spat, power still rising inside her.

“ _You_ dragged me into this world, _you_ shoved me into this body. It is _your_ fault that I am Fae. _You_ made me this monster. And as long as I will live in this wretched body, I will never forget that.”

Feyre looked like someone has struck her. Her mate was holding her now, unadulterated hate shining on his face. All of them had that hate on their faces.

That only made her words sharper.

“You want to play the victim card, Feyre? Want to paint yourself as if you are always the hero? Go ahead. You might be, in some situations. But not in this one. _You_ told that bitch of priestess about me. _You_ brought those queens to my home. _You_ gave Clare Beddor up. You are the reason I am Fae. I would have rather _died_ than be your kind.”

Nesta knew the last sentence would hurt. Wanted it to.

Feyre still had _that_ look on her face, wrath twisting some of it. But it was Morrigan who said, “We all wish you were.”

Something in Nesta snapped. Her power swelled, filling every cell of her body. She couldn’t control it.

_We wish you were dead._

* * *

Cassian listened with a broken heart what Nesta said. Listened to the sharp, cutting words she _knew_ would strike their target. Feyre already carried so much of guilt. She practically carried the world on her shoulders.

And Nesta dumped all this on her.

Nesta, who was cold and brutal since he met her. Who was currently standing in front of them, looking like a skeleton.

But her eyes- they _glowed._ Grey turned to silver, blue turning to ice. He instinctively shoved Feyre behind him, keeping his High Lady safe.

But she just side stepped him, looking at Nesta with just a kernel of fear. Mor’s words did something to her. After months Cassian saw those deathly powers rise again, swirling in her eyes.

Her hands started to glow, eyes fixed solely on Mor. Mor who was currently standing in a defensive position, sword in front of her. Azriel was trying to shield her, shadows shifting around him.

Rhys’ wings were out, trying to push Feyre behind him as Cassian did. Like he could sense the power currently roaring through Nesta, and the destruction it could cause.

Nesta continued glaring at Mor; yet her hands remained at her sides. She was collecting her power, Cassian realized.

_Things were going to get very, very ugly._

Then, light footsteps thudded and Elaine appeared at the door. Where Azriel’s siphons were flashing as his shadows moved around Elaine now.

Nesta’s glance shot up to Elaine’s, body stock still. Elaine, who Nesta would give her life for. She stared at her, horror and sorrow evident on her face.

Her presence seemed to trigger something in Nesta. She blinked repeatedly, eyes slowly losing their glow. Her hands curled into fists, clenching so hard that the scent of her blood filled the room.

Finally, that lethal glow faded from her face. She looked away from Elaine, hands behind her back. Blood still dripped onto the carpeted floor.

Her eyes swept over the room, hate and rage filling them. Finally, they settled on Feyre, standing in front of her.

“I wish I were dead too,” she hissed, as she took a step forward. Every person in the room went on instant alert, brandishing their choice of weapon.

Nesta just smirked, a cold, dead smirk and shouldered past Feyre. Past Elaine. They heard her stalk towards the door, and slam it so hard it splintered.

_Fuck._


	2. acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Thank you so so much to everyone who left kudos. And to those who left comments- lemme just tell you ily. And some asked for more IC bashing so here it is!  
> This mainly concentrates on Rice and Feyrug so lmk if y'all want the others as well.

Nesta stormed out of the river estate, mind blazing. Her power roiled within her, begging for release, but she ignored it. It could go to fucking hell.

For months she had kept her resentment towards herself. Had never voiced them out to anyone, choosing to keep it bottled up. She knew what they were thinking. That she was a cold- hearted bitch who lashed at everyone.

Not _once_ had they tried to understand things from her perspective. They _never_ tried to see things through Nesta’s eyes. Never bothered to think that maybe, just maybe _she had a different coping method._

Nesta put on the icy, unbreakable front because she _had_ to. She had to do it, so that every blow that the fucking Inner Circle delivered wouldn’t hit home. Every comment, the silent judgment, the jabs, the snipes wouldn’t hurt.

Nesta didn’t truly hate them. She carried a staggering amount of dislike for them, yes but didn’t hate them. She resented the fact that they all got to parade around like heroes and be seen as one when Nesta was constantly made the villain because of one thing she did when she was young and stupid.

Nesta meant her apology to Feyre. She was sorry for what her sister had to go through because of her. And she knew it was completely up to Feyre to forgive her or not.

What she didn’t understand was why she wasn’t extended the same courtesy. Why couldn’t her precious angel of a sister understand that she wasn’t ready to forgive her. Because what Feyre did to Nesta was way, _way_ worse than making Feyre hunt alone for a few years.

She didn’t want to compare their traumas, she truly didn’t. But their blatant _I’m better than you_ attitude was pissing her off to levels she didn’t know she could reach. They viewed themselves as literal gods, untouchable and only capable of good.

The Inner Circle faced absolutely _no_ consequences to their actions. They blazed on, charting all those they hurt and killed as something they needed to do. But they didn’t.

Feyre went out of her to way to destroy Tamlin’s entire court. Nesta understood any personal misgivings she had with him- but she had chosen to bring the entire Court down, just to feel that sense of pride. But she didn’t have to face any consequences. Her mate and her just wrote them off as necessary, completely overlooking all the lives she had just destroyed.

She claimed to be High Lady, the supposed ruler of the Night Courts. It was, by title, her responsibility to help and protect it’s citizens. But not once did she try to do anything to help them. There were _children_ being abused in the Night Courts. But rather than removing that piece of shit Keir from his position, she chose to just ignore their plight.

Her sister was a selfish person. She only cared about _her_ family. Anyone who wasn’t a part of the Inner Circle automatically became a target for judgment and criticism.

Feyre refused to acknowledge anyone’s PTSD except her own. Never did she think that Nesta was not, in fact, OK with being Fae. She thought it was a gift she had granted her, another way in which she was an angel of a person.

But Nesta didn’t want to be Fae. She hated the Fae- and with good reason. They were stronger, faster and much, _much_ more powerful. And they constantly abused their position of power, killing and hunting humans for sport. Just because they weren’t gifted the same values.

Because _that_ is what the Fae were. They were lucky. They didn’t earn their powers. They were born privileged, and abused those who didn’t have the same level or privilege.

But Feyre viewed being Fae as some kind of grace. As if it was an _accomplishment_ to become a part of a race that was built on the lives of mortals.

Not once had Feyre apologized for what she did to Nesta. Nesta had never wanted her darling sister and her menagerie of friends in her house. Because she knew that as soon as they were thrust into her life, trouble would come.

And it did. Because of Feyre, those fools of queens had come to her home, and proceeded to insult her kind. They had meant to leave them all to _die_ and Nesta was not going to take it lying down.

And what had that earned her? A spiteful grudge which led to the violation of her body, her mind. Because her _sister_ had decided that what she wanted was the highest priority. Over Nesta’s clear discomfort.

But never had Nesta gone out of her way to be spiteful. Unlike Feyre. Her darling sister, who took every opportunity to slut-shame her. To constantly ignore her mental struggles.

Feyre simply couldn’t comprehend that maybe Nesta _didn’t_ want to be a part of merry little band of fools. Because Nesta didn’t want to be a part of the group who had taken away every right of hers. Who constantly violated others’ basic right; and then proceeded to _justify_ them.

No one- absolutely no one had called out what Feyre did to Lucien. She invaded his _mind, his thoughts_ and then justified it. She had constantly abused her power, forcing Nesta to attend gatherings and parties which she clearly was uncomfortable with.

Feyre, who took it upon herself to call out every abuser- and then conveniently ignored her own abusive personality and mate.

Rhysand, who was the savior of all. The supposed High Lord- a title which he did nothing to keep. Never did he try to help any of the citizens. Had only concentrated on _saving_ his ‘mate’ and the people belonging to his dear Inner Circle.

Rhysand, who justified slut-shaming Nesta because Feyre was his mate. He made her _sick._ Who, like Feyre, violated people’s privacy constantly. And didn’t face any consequences. He had shattered _thousands_ of minds, bodies. Yet he was eligible for redemption.

Nesta couldn’t care less if they wanted to parade around the city, acting like they single-handedly destroyed Hybern. When it was practically Feyre’s fault. But they chose to ignore that, instead proceeding to strut around, basking in their glory.

Completely ignoring the fact that it was Nesta and Elain who had killed the King of Hybern. Nesta didn’t care about getting credit. She didn’t want to be idolized and put on pedestals.

What she did want was to be _left alone._ Feyre still thought that Nesta was staying away because she was stubborn. But the actual reason was that Nesta wanted absolutely no part in their little circle. She didn’t want to be dragged into gatherings, didn’t want to play happy little soldier. She hated them and everything they stood for- monarchy and privilege.

But Feyre was sitting on a horse so high that she couldn’t deign to leave Nesta alone. The only obligation she felt was because they were _sisters._ Feyre couldn’t even fathom the fact that Nesta genuinely didn’t like them. Because Nesta saw through their savior act, their complete fakeness. And didn’t want to be a part of that bullshit.

Time and time again Feyre had proved that she only cared about the Inner Circle’s wellbeing. She didn’t deserve the title of High Lady. Feyre was wholly inexperienced, clueless about what it meant to be High Lady. The only reason she was given the title was because of the mating bond. Not because of her ‘qualifications’, not because of her powers.

If Feyre wanted to feel validation by being given a title whose responsibilities she blatantly ignored, let her do that. What aggravated Nesta was the constant _abuse_ of that power.

Whenever something didn’t go her way, she would pull rank. Nesta didn’t want to talk to her? She summoned her as ruler of the Court of Dreams.

Nesta snorted in her mind. Court of Dreams, her ass. Court of Selfish Assholes, maybe. They did not do a _single_ thing to help the citizens of the Night Court. Unless it directly affected one of Inner Circle. She had been listening to the people talk when she was visiting every shady tavern she found. Had witnessed their pain, their trauma.

But Feyre nor Rhysand had lifted a finger to help them. Apart from Feyre opening a craft shop. Which was about as effective as just telling them _just act normal._

Which was exactly what she wanted Nesta to do. Feyre might have not said it out loud but it was obvious. She forced Nesta to attend parties because that’s what _normal people_ do. She kept trying to make her be friends with her precious family because _they were normal and the best._

Nesta looked up, so lost in her thoughts she didn’t realize she was standing in front of her apartment. Another thing her perfect sister looked down upon.

It was one of the reasons she had chosen to live here. To throw in her fucking sister’s face how immensely privileged she was. Feyre might have gone through her fair share of struggles. But she clearly had forgotten it now, judging by the way she lived and acted.

Unless, of course, it was to use to her advantage. To show how poor Feyre was always the victim. Nesta had heard the whispers, the murmurs. Contrary to her sister’s belief, not everyone viewed her as a hero. A lot of people resented what she did to Tamlin’s Court, having friends and family there. Other didn’t like how she hadn’t paid for her the studio she had taken from a grieving family. When her mate had bought her a fucking _palace._

Some even sympathized with Nesta. Somehow, word had gotten out about the ice-hearted sister not mingling with the oh-so-powerful Court of Dreams. They gave her a free drink for _not kissing their ass like everyone else did._ For _showing their stingy asses where to stick it._

People, apparently, couldn’t believe how Feyre was telling Nesta not to spend their money. Especially when not a single penny had been given to help it’s citizens. No- the Court just hoarded it for themselves, buying diamonds and palaces, no matter the cost.

Nesta slid the locks into place, anger rising and rising. She wanted to scream, wanted to yell. But she didn’t.

She kept it inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, once again, compressed as fuck bc some things Nesta wouldn't know. So if anyone wants it, I'm ready to do an entire work pinpointing every thing i hate about the IC. Including Elain bc she's no saint either, contrary to popular belief. Kudos and comment make my day if you wanna leave them<333


	3. rebellion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry i've been gone for so long!! i lost interest briefly (not so much brief, more long) but i am once again fired up. thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos, you guys give me serotonin.  
> hope you like the chapter<3

Nesta sat at yet another dingy tavern, sipping the drink in her hand. Beads of condensation rolled down the glass, dripping onto her silk sleeves. But Nesta didn’t pay attention to it. Her thoughts were far away, wandering to five people she detested.

Oh, the Inner Circle occupied her thoughts frequently these days. After her blow out at her sister’s fucking palace, her powers had swelled and swelled, not dying down. She regularly visited a ground one of her partners had told her about where many Fae went to sweat it out. Only there was she able to unleash her powers; not to their full extent, of course. Aside from that, there was no release, and her powers roiled in her body, begging to be used.

_Not yet, she thought._

Feyre had the fucking audacity to write her a letter _belittling_ her for her behavior. Nesta had never experienced the anger she felt when she read through the page of condescending _bullshit._ Her sister had filled it with how upset Elain was, how Feyre and the others just wanted to help her, how she was being rude to them.

How fucking dare they say she was being rude? All Nesta had asked from them was to leave her alone. She wanted nothing more than to separate herself from her sister and her menagerie of friends. She despised Feyre, and her husband especially. No matter how godly Rhysand thought he was, how kind and generous Feyre made him out to be, Nesta knew better.

And so did a lot of citizens.

She had met a woman named Najwa at one of the bars, and she was the first person Nesta had met who _didn’t_ hail the Inner Circle as saviors. Nesta had been so shocked that she had actually choked, and Najwa had thumped her on her back, telling her that she wasn’t alone in her dislikes, and that the citizens were slowly becoming restless.

Indeed, after months of doing absolutely nothing to help the citizens of Velaris, the people were becoming restless. Feyre had done nothing other than open an art class for children, and the others hadn’t given a single coin towards the betterment of the city. They sat on their thrones in their humongous palace and gave not a single thought towards how the people of the city were suffering.

Nesta had become good friends with Najwa and enjoyed her company. She was supposed to meet her at the tavern, but knowing her disregard towards punctuality, she would be late.

She glanced around the pub, absentmindedly taking a few sips of her drink. This particular bar was a hotspot for people who were against the entire system of High Fae. After centuries of oppression under monarchy, many citizens were starting to doubt the merits of it, finding faults with the birth-based ruling system.

And if Feyre and her High Lord weren’t careful, they would have a revolt on their hands _very_ soon. Seeds of doubt had been sowed whether Rhysand and Feyre were really fit to rule the Night Court. People had gotten wind of what happened to hundreds of innocent women and children in the Hewn City, and were rightly horrified by the seemingly indifference their High Lords displayed towards it. In the past centuries Rhysand had done nothing for the oppressed females- Illyrians and regular Fae alike- other than a couple of weak laws which had no impact at all.

It appeared as if he only cared about the females in _his_ family- and no one else. While Nesta wasn’t an active speaker in this growing rebellion, she certainly agreed with everything they brought up. Feyre was in no position to be ruling the Court- she had no merits, no experience, and no knowledge of Fae life whatsoever. She was granted the position only because she was the mate of Rhysand- something Nesta had silently raged about. There so many females she had met who genuinely cared about making life for Fae better- and protecting humans from harm at the same time.

At that moment Najwa arrived, dropping into the seat across her and jolting her out of her thoughts. She was young, maybe 30 years of age. She had platinum hair drawn into braids and dark skin the color of ebony. She grinned at Nesta as she heaved a large bag onto the desk, struggling to keep it from spilling. From what she could see, it was filled with clay from the riverside. Najwa worked as a part-time potter, creating lovely creations out of mud, many of which Nesta had taken home. Her main job was a speaker for the rebellion, and she travelled to different cities, urging people with her compelling speech to overthrow the monarchy and break free from the chains of hereditary ruling.

Safe to say that Nesta was swayed.

“Sorry I’m late; I stopped to collect some more mud.” This was proven true by the stains on her hands and knees. Najwa preferred to dig the mud herself rather than purchase it. Said it gave her more satisfaction to know that every element was sourced by her.

“I expected it,” Nesta replied, small smile twitching on her lips.

Najwa winked as she took a sip of the drink Nesta had ordered for her. Another thing about Najwa was that she hated drinking her drinks cold. She always ordered it a minimum of 30 minutes before and let it sit.

“What were you thinking about? You looked pretty deep in your thoughts.”

Nesta said tightly, “My sister.”

“Ah. Anything you would like to share?” Najwa asked.

“Remember Polina, the one who’s studio Feyre took?” At Najwa’s nod, she continued. “I met her lover few days ago. She said she had no idea Feyre even wanted the studio. She was planning on making it into a sort of memorial for Polina, in remembrance. And she had the funds ready, and was just about to make the request to Polina’s family when Feyre took it for free. It’s just- it seems cruel, to take advantage of a grieving family.”

Najwa hummed. “I heard the family didn’t want to take her money. But I still agree with you. They were mourning the loss of their daughter; they might have not been thinking clearly. And Feyre should have paid regardless, in my opinion.”

Nesta agreed wholeheartedly. After spending almost six months independently, she had become used to the workings of the ‘lower’ Fae. None of them looked at her with disgust, or revulsion. Or fear, either. They were welcoming, and many even sympathized with her over her plight with the Inner Circle.

Nesta even had a job now. She wasn’t particularly talented at anything, so she took up a job she enjoyed rather than excelled at. She worked at the local library shelving books and helping the main librarian with book receipts and orders. There was plenty of time for her to read books since the library wasn’t extremely popular. There was also a cat which had taken to her, and it sat with her whenever she read.

It paid well enough- enough to not have to depend on the selfish Court of Dreamers. This was another thing that baffled her new-found friends when she told them. They couldn’t fathom how to richest people in basically all the Courts couldn’t spare her enough money to rent out one of the dingiest apartments in town. Especially when the ‘High Lady’ literally bought a mansion for herself.

People had offered to chip in, or to live with them till she got back on her feet. And for a month she had taken them up on their offer, spending every few days at a different house. Nesta liked it- she was presented with warm, welcoming people who didn’t pressure to do _anything_ she didn’t want to do, and helped her slowly become independent again.

She would be forever grateful to them, and would never forget how poor working citizens helped her more than the literal rulers who were rolling in money didn’t.

“People are talking, you know,” Najwa said. At Nesta’s confusion, she elaborated, “About what you did. Feyre and her husband might now give you any credit, but we know. That you killed the king of Hybern. And we will never, ever forget that.”

Nesta blinked. The memory of her father lying on the ground with his neck snapped rose. She pushed it down, blinking rapidly. “It does not affect me whether my sister acknowledges my _contributions_ to the war or not. But thank you. For everything.”

She meant it.

Najwa reached over to peck her on her cheek, surely leaving a red lipstick stain behind. Someone clapped their hands at the front of the bar, drawing attention to them. It was Laranya, the brown skinned Fae with riotous curly hair. Her mate, Elvira, had been one of the citizens of Velaris who had let her live in her house for a few days. Nesta had great respect for the quiet, intelligent female who treated everyone with the same kindness she had shown her.

“Welcome,” Laranya began, smile unfurling across her face. “I come bearing good news.” A hush spread over the tavern, everyone eagerly awaiting what was about to come.

“We have secured allies in every single Court, and are now poised for a revolution to break out in the coming year,” she said.

Instantly, everyone cheered, jumping up from their seats to whoop, to hug to congratulate everyone who had made this possible. Even Nesta had a smile on her face as she was squished by Najwa.

Someone spoke up from behind her. “What about our brothers and sisters in the Hewn City? Surely, they deserve freedom as well!”

Once again silence fell, as the people remembered their brethren still trapped in the city.

Laranya’s smile didn’t falter. “After years of careful communication, we have our stronghold there as well. Since it is considerably lesser than those of us in other Courts, it is up to us to assist them as much as we can.” A cheer went up again.

“While we still have a long road ahead of us, it is not impossible, and we will not stop till we get equal rights for everybody. We are all equal; and we should be treated as the same. Abolish the monarchy!” Laranya cried. Everyone echoed the same, and Nesta found herself doing the same.

_The High Fae better watch out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it seems unlikely that it took 500+ years for a rebellion to take place but hear me out. after any war, people are bound to feel doubts and apprehension. so why is the Hybern war any different? well, in my mind, Feyrug's demolishing of the Spring Court (the most selfish move she had ever made) combined with the atrocities Ricebag is allowing to take place in the Hewn Court coming to light will definitely result in huge unsettlement. also, it adds to my queen Nesta being the boss bitch she is and putting the Court of Dumpsters in their place(the trashacan)  
> sneak peek: next chap will touch upon the injustices these fuckers are allowing to occur to the Illyrians in detail so stay tuned xx.  
> FUCK FEYRUG FUCK RICEBAG FUCK AMROT FUCK ASSRIEL FUCK CASSHIT FUCK MORRIGARBAGE  
> stan nesta xoxo  
> kudos and comments will give you cookies so :)))))))


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